


Killers

by LadyLustful



Series: A Marvelous Anthology of Crack Porn [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Comfort Sex, Crack Relationships, Creed still loves Logan. Always., Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Sabretooth does the Marvel universe, Size Kink, Unrequited Love, Vickie is big everywhere, except more allies or teammates, fluffy by Creed standards, mentioned eye-gouging, mentioned rape, mentions of violence because Sabretooth, the Soldier's damaged mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5839729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLustful/pseuds/LadyLustful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Sabretooth screws the Winter Soldier to get over Wolverine.<br/>That's all the plot there is to it.<br/>Or: Creed still carries a torch for Logan. Bucky doesn't remember ever loving Steve. They pass their villainous downtime with dirty, unattached, mutually satisfying sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Filigranka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/gifts).



> 1\. There's no excuse for this existing. Apart from the fact the Soldier has a pretty face and is beautifully traumatised and big, blonde, hairy, dangerous Sabretooth is a fetish unto himself.  
> 2\. This is either comics!Sabretooth or Tyler Mane!Sabretooth. I like Liev Schreiber and his acting in 'Origins:Wolverine', but he doesn't look much like Sabretooth and doesn't do much for my kinks either.  
> 3\. The dub-con is due to the fact that Bucky is brainwashed and trained to obey orders, but mostly sane. Whether it would actually qualify as rape in a court of law is probably up to debate for lawyers and forensic psychiatrists/psychologists and such. Be on the safe side, don't do it IRL.  
> 4\. Sabretooth is not Hydra, just to make it clear. He's only working for them for the money and either expecting them to backstab him, or planning to backstab them, or both. What else would you expect from the big bastard?
> 
> THESE TWO GORGEOUS FUCKERS BELONG TO MARVEL AND WHOEVER MADE THE MOVIES. I OWN FUCK ALL AND JUST BORROWED THEM FOR THE PURPOSE OF MAKING PORN. I PROMISE TO GIVE THEM BACK UNHARMED, PLEASE DON'T SUE ME, I OWN FUCK ALL.

'I remember when Jimmikins used to have hair like that, you know.'  
The Winter Soldier looks up from the disassembled gun and turns his head. Creed's standing in the doorway, huge and broad-shouldered and long-limbed, yellow light catching on his long, shaggy blonde hair and hazel eyes, making him glow, like fire. The usual hideous tan parka, heavy scuffed boots, scruffy pants. A bottle of alcohol in one huge, hairy, clawed hand, a cigarette between narrow lips.  
'Who's Jimmikins?', asks the Soldier. The name rings a bell, kind of, but it also sounds off. Familliar, but vaguely wrong.  
Creed stalks closer, almost too close for comfort, put an arm around the Winter Soldier's shoulders with enough force to knock a un-enhanced man to the ground.  
'Eh, who's Jimmikins. My friend, my brother, my lover, my everythin'. More 'n my everythin'.'  
The Soldier understands the sentiment, surprisingly enough, on more than just an intellectual level. Nothing of the sort happened to him, of course, but it could have - in another life, one where he wasn't the Winter Soldier. It was a weird concept to consider.  
''Course he left me, after all these years we fucked and fought together. Gone off fuck knows where, doin' fuck knows what, an' forgot I even exist!' Creed pauses to compose himself, shrugs his massive shoulders and draws deeply on his cigarette.  
'Hey, wanna drag?', he offers as an afterthought.  
The Soldier shakes his head, an universal gesture of refusal.  
'Ya sure? One drag won't kill ya. Oh well, suit yerself, I s'ppose, if ya don' wanna.'  
There's the word again. Want. A strange concept. The Soldier isn't supposed to acknowledge wanting things.  
Creed smokes and swigs vodka in silence for a while. Then...  
'Y' got pretty eyes. Anyone else, I'd pop 'em right out', and the Soldier is familiar with that proclivity of Creed's, the tendency not so much to torture as to rend and maim. 'Claw 'em out maybe, or suck 'em straight outta yet skull while I raped ya. Not you, though. Ya can keep up with me an' thrash my hide on a good day, I respect that. Like it about ya. Jimmy was like that, too.'  
'An' yer a killer. I like killers.'  
Creed teeters on the balls of his feet, leans forward suddenly, runs his tongue over the Soldier's cheekbone. He draws back almost immediately, then leans in again and kisses the Soldier on the mouth.  
The Soldier is trained to obey his handlers unconditionally, but he can also make decisions for himself, in case his handlers are dead, or impossible to reach, or uncounscious, or otherwise unable to perform their duties adequately. He briefly considers whether Creed's drunk enough to qualify. Not that Creed's ordering him do something anyway. He seems to be experimenting, trying to see how the Soldier will react. And the Soldier is inexplicably tempted to perform an experiment of his own.  
He grabs the back of Creed's head awkwardly with his metal hand, pulls him in, kisses back. Creed tastes like paint stripper and secondhand cigarette smoke, kisses the way he fights, too much force and no finesse at all, but it's still good.  
Victor's grinning when he pulls back, all mischief and razor-sharp teeth and a drip of spit in the corner of his mouth.  
'Knew fightin' ain't the only thing yer good for.'

Creed looks even better naked, an endless mouthwatering expanse of golden-pale skin and powerful muscles. It does things to the Soldier's head and knees that are vaguely concerning, and he drops down to his knees, coming face to face with a long, thick, mostly-hard cock. He stares at it with wary fascination mixed with want and it must show.  
'Ya wanna suck it?', prompts Creed. 'Go on.'  
He doesn't really know what to do, but he tries anyway, licks and sucks and tries to fit as much as he can into his mouth. It's awkward, the cock too large, almost as riddiculously oversized as the rest of Victor.  
Finally he finds a rhythm, sucking and licking at the head, jerking the shaft with quick movements of his flesh hand, groping and squeezing Creed's ass with the metal one.  
'That's a good slut', rumbles Creed, more appreciative that derogatory, but apart from that he's silent. Just groans and growls and heavy breathing and the scraping of his claws on the Soldier's metal arm. Eventually, he starts thrusting into the Soldier's mouth, clawing bloody lines in his flesh shoulder.  
'Ugh, Jimmy, I'm gonna cum', Creed grits out, and the Soldier goes on sucking and jerking him, maybe even increasing his efforts.  
'Yeah, fuck, yeah, Jimmy!'  
The Soldier swallows rapidly, trying to avoid choking and keep the cum from running out of his mouth. It does anyway.  
Creed takes a while to compose himself, sucks the blood from his claws, pulls the Soldier up to lick the cum off his chin, then the blood off his shoulder.  
'Liked that, huh?' he asks, almost conversationally, hand drifting down to squeeze the Soldier's stiff cock, give it a firm, slow pull. It's good, almost good enough to hurt, especially since Creed's careful with his claws. He would have had practice, the Soldier supposes, jerking off for however long he's been around actually.  
'You want me to fuck ya up the ass?'  
The Soldier thinks about it. He doesn't know, doesn't really have much of a frame of reference for this. He looks up at Victor, confused.  
'I don't know?"  
'Well, how 'bout ya try? Start with yer fingers first, gimme a bit of a show...'

Which is why, ultimately, the Soldier ends up bent over a workbench, with his three own lube-slicked fingers up his ass while Creed alternates between watching and licking patterns on his back.  
'One more', Creed decides. 'Yer gonna need it. Less ya wannit to hurt.'  
And there's a tone of lust in Creed's voice, like he's getting off on the idea of hurting someone like that. Figures. The Soldier shoves four fingers in, twists and scissors them, trying not to let show on his face the mixture of pleasure and discomfort he feels at the action. He strongly suspects Creed can sense it anyway. He certainly can't hide the way his dick twitches and drips onto the bench.  
'Yer a good pet.', Creed strokes his head, almost gently. 'Good at takin' orders. Jimmy woulda told me to fuck myself.'  
The Soldier doesn't understand the pet part, but it's good. Obedience is good. He twists his hand again, slow and exaggerated, enjoying the sensations it sends through his body, the way Creed stares at him hungrily.  
Creed watches the Asset, naked and disheveled. Lanky pale limbs and long dark hair, tousled and sweaty. Blue eyes very wide, confused, almost innocent. Mouth half-open, very red and slightly swollen from sucking his cock. Cock hard, red and leaking. Asshole stretched wide around four fingers. He looks pretty, fragile when he's not, innocent and debauched at the same time.  
'Yer a pretty lil' whore', mutters Creed, stroking the Soldier's side. 'I wanna fuck ya now.'  
The Soldier removes his fingers obediently, splays his hands out on the workbench, bracing himself while Creed lubes himself up and pushes in. It's uncomfortable, the sheer size painful, the entry slow but rough, but it also feels good. Obeying orders; praise; being filled; Creed's large, hot hands gripping his hips hard enough to bruise, grounding him, closing him in, safe and soothing and weirdly familliar.  
'Maybe I did it with Creed already', he thinks, 'maybe he has a habit of doing this with me...'  
Creed moves, slow and lazy and painful and too much, and the pleasant haze in the Soldier's mind fades a bit. Still, he does not react - he's been trained not to acknowledge pain, and anyway, he's used to much worse.  
Creed somehow picks up on it anyway.  
'Does it hurt you?'  
The Soldier only hesitates for a split second.  
'Yes'  
'Say it. Tell me it hurts.'  
'It hurts.' repeats the Soldier obediently. He can sense Creed's arousal.  
Then, he's pulled back against Creed's huge, hairy chest, one long, muscular arm trapping him against it. Creed goes on thrusting, breath warm on the back of the Soldier's head, but he also wraps a hand agains the Soldier's dick to jerk him off. That part's good, and the Soldier focuses on it, feeling the earlier arousal returning. The pain fades, even as Creed speeds up gradually, claws leaving shallow red scratches on the Soldier's hip. The Soldier has no choice but to brace himself with all his strength to stay upright even as his bucks his hips between the hand on his dick and the cock in his ass.  
'Gonna fuck ya until ya scream', Creed promises, panting, and it's vaguely concerning that he still has the breath and wits left for a complete sentence.  
'Scream for me, Jimmy', whispers Creed, slamming into the Soldier with enough force to bruise.  
The workbench gives a threatening creak and groan.  
'Damn', mutters Creed, pulling off the Soldier and looking around for a sturdier surface to fuck him on.  
He looks savage and glorious and thoroughly fucked, eyes wide and black, face and chest flushed from arousal and exertion, huge dick hard and red and glistening with lube.  
The Soldier suddenly remembers - or, just as likely, imagines - someone else, blue-eyed and clean-shaven and short-haired, but also strong-jawed and blonde and just as mouthwateringly, breathtakingly gorgeous (maybe more, a part of the Soldier's mind supplies). Someone else, lying on his back on the ground with the afternoon sun in his eyes and hair, moaning in pleasure as the Soldier straddled him, fucking himself to completion on the man's cock. ('Please, Bucky... you're so good...')  
'Can I ride you?', the Soldier asks Creed impulsively. He's not supposed to want anything, but volounteering an idea on how to perform a particular task is acceptable, and this can be reasonably considered the latter category.  
Creed looks him over.  
'Well, pet, why the fuck not?'  
Creed lies on his back on the floor, the Soldier straddles him and, feeling somewhat nervous, slowly impales himself on the huge, swollen cock. It feels more familliar than he suspects, somewhat uncomfortable and slighly painful but pleasant too, full in all the best ways and stimulating all the right places. Creed's baring his impressive teeth, slowly and labouredly breathing through them, trying to control himself. The Soldier gyrates his hips slowly, getting used to the large organ within him, lifts up, then thrusts down tentatively, then splays his hands out on Creed's chest and starts fucking himself earnestly, mouth open, cheeks flushed, cock red and hard and dripping precum all over the yellow hair on Creed's belly.  
'Yer a good whore', mutters Creed, 'doin' all the work and enjoying yerself, too.' He gripps the Soldier's thighs, digging in his claws, drawing beads of blood that the Soldier ignores.  
The Soldier does not answer. He just goes on fucking with the single-minded, unwavering focus that he devotes to everything else, too lost in his own pleasure and what he's doing to pay attention to his surroundings. That won't do. As good a fuck as the Asset is, Victor is not fond of being ignored during sex.  
'Look at me, fer fuck's sake!'  
Creed strikes the Asset across the face, claws leaving four shallow bloody welts on his cheek. The Asset twitches, muscles clenching most deliciously on Creed's dick, and looks at Creed, but otherwise does not react, hardly breaks his rhythm. Creed scratches across the Soldiers chest next, to see the reaction - the slightest flinch, barely there, and a palpable tensing of muscles. Squeezing the Soldier's nipple makes him falter and buck his hips, pulling and twisting it produces a strangled, helpless moan, less of a sound than a vibration of his body, rubbing it between two fingers makes him open his mouth and throw his head back and grind his ass on Victor's cock. And all of this is getting to Victor - the sight, the sounds, the tight heat of the Soldier's body and the grind of his hips and the smell of sweat, blood and precum.  
He sits up, leans in to lick up the blood, tongue tracing the cuts on the Soldier's cheek in broad, lazy strokes, huge, clawed hand craddling the back of his head, the other gripping his hip, bouncing him on Creed's cock as easily as if he weighed nothing.  
The change of angle presses the Soldier's dick into Creed's stomach, rubbing the head against the skin and and he comes from the friction, silent and open mouthed, muscles tensing, ass clenching down on Creed's cock.  
This brings Creed off as well. He gives a few more brutal, punishing thrusts into his partner's pliant body and comes inside him with a animalistic roar.

  
'Ya don't scream when ya cum', muses Creed afterwards. ''S disappointing.'  
'Do I ever scream?', the Soldier bites back before he realises he shouldn't talk back to superiors, that he may be punished. But Creed just shakes his shaggy, blonde head and gives an amused, fanged smile.  
'Nah. Ya don't.'


End file.
